Sharp Eyes
by Wolves-Strife
Summary: In which a dodged spell destroys the Department of Mysteries stock of time turners, right while Harry is next to it. He finds himself flung back in time and takes on the fake name of Norman Polk. Things of course end up going from bad to worse in the end, because that's just how Harry's luck works. This has mostly been inspired by the idea of the Projectionist loose in Hogwarts.
1. The Beginning

**AN:** I liveeee  
I know I haven't posted here in ages, but I thought I might as well post this plot bunny that's been bugging me for the past week

This is a Harry Potter x Bendy and the Ink Machine crossover! Haven't gotten fully into the crossover part yet, I'll see if I can add more if the inspiration as to where to go from this strikes me

* * *

Harry's feet pounded against the floor of the confusing labyrinth that was the Department of Mysteries, dread flooding him as he realised he had been completely separated from his friends. In the rush to escape the Death Eaters that had chased them he hadn't even realised until he found himself alone in what he had mentally dubbed the 'time room', full of time turners and jars of creatures he couldn't look at for more than moments before revulsion and pity rose in his chest.

The thick door nearly muffled the chaos and fighting he knew to be going outside. The glowing prophecy orb felt like a heavy weight in his hand. His friends were put in so much danger from following him into Voldemort's trap, all for this? He wanted so badly to just throw it at the ground and pulverise it to dust in that moment.

Distraction tore him from that temptation when the door leading to the confusing corridor opened, letting in a certain blonde man that quickly looked very much like the cat that had caught the canary.

"Potter," Malfoy senior drawled, "You know this would be much easier on you and your little group if you just came quietly and handed over that prophecy." Rather than attempt to corner him Lucius stood in the doorway, wand aloft as he blocked Harry's exit.

Harry felt a chill go down him as he slowly backed up, attempting to scan his eyes about for another way out without taking his eyes off the man. He had to stop short as he nearly walked into a rack holding up many little time turners, only spotted in the dim lighting from how searching for flashes of gold was near second nature to him.

"I'd rather smash it first." Harry bit back, "I'm sure ol' Voldie would love it gift wrapped in a thousand pieces." He turned his side more towards the Death Eater, wand steadily pointed forward in a way that contrasted with the ball of anxiety in his stomach, his other arm tightly gripping the mentioned orb shifting more towards his back.

A ugly snarl spread over Malfoy's face at being denied yet again, quickly shooting a vibrant red spell at the teen in response. Harry tensed, unsure of what the silent spell would do, and made a split second decision that changed everything.

Rather than attempt to shield himself with own of his own spells he dove to the side. The spell collided with the rack of time turners behind him instead, destroying the fragile items in an instant and sending golden sand everywhere. Harry covered his eyes with his wand arm instinctively, coughing as the sand entered his lungs and left him breathless.

After that he only knew pain and darkness.

* * *

Harry slowly found himself waking again to a hand softly shaking his shoulder and hard brick pressing against his back. The muffled noise of traffic and chatter brought confusion. Wasn't he just… why couldn't he remember? It felt like someone had wrapped his brain in cotton.

He managed to slowly pry his eyes open, wincing as his head pounded with pain, to see a woman with dark eyes and a concerned expression only inches away from him. Everything past her face was blurred, something unsurprising as he noted the weight of his glasses absent from his face.

"Hello? Are you okay?" The woman questioned, leaning backwards out of Harry's limited sight in an attempt to give him room.

"I- I think so." Harry croaked, wincing in pain as talking caused his throat to scream in pain. He slowly began to shuffle about, sitting up so his back pressed less uncomfortably into the brick wall.

The woman gave him a critical look, not that he could really tell, not entirely believing. He had been found laying in the entrance of a alleyway, completely out to the world, and he claimed to be fine?

"Do you remember how you ended up here?" She questioned softly.

That gave Harry pause. He racked his brain, trying to figure out what he could last recall. He could definitely remember Hogwarts, but the past day (he hoped it was only a day at least) was in fragments. A crackling fireplace, the feel of wind rushing past him, a softly glowing orb that somehow seemed important…

It was easier for him to just shake his head. He wasn't sure it was a fellow magic-user he was speaking to anyways. On that train of thought… "Where is here?"

"You're just outside Kowalski's bakery, in New York." She affirmed, worry rising in her as she noticed how unfocused the teens eyes were. Not to mention the apparent missing memory. "What's your name?"

Harry paused yet again, but for entirely different reasons this time. He wasn't sure if he should give the woman her name. Sure she hadn't seemed to want to harm him, but usually he never got enjoyable reactions from his name. Think, think. What 'normal' (compared to the ones the wizarding world seemed to prefer at least) names did he know…

"Norman." He blurted out. "Norman Po- Polk." Merlin, he was so bad at coming up with names.


	2. Settling In

The next week passed in almost a blur for him. The woman, who identified herself as Rose Sawyer, had quickly escorted him to the nearest doctors after their conversation. He was fine physically for the most part with a few scrapes here and there, but whatever had last happened had royally screwed with his throat. Talking was painful enough that he just resigned himself to watching the world and trying to piece together in his head what happened. At least the scratchy quality in his voice now hid his accent.

Of course his lack of glasses made that a bit difficult, but when he had brought it up after the doctor tried to get him to read a poster for him a remedy was produced later that day in the form of a brand new pair of round rimmed glasses.

He didn't understand how this complete stranger was being so kind to him. In his previous experience with muggles (it wasn't hard to figure out he wasn't in the magical world anymore) most had just ignored his presence at least, and out-right hated him at most. He felt a twinge of guilt at how he had lied to her, and then everyone else after that, about his name.

It turned out that might have been the best course of action when he discovered one other fact. Other than being in the completely wrong continent, _he was in the wrong time as well._ It was 1929, 51 whole years before he was even born.

It also meant that his best course of action when it came to his backstory was to pretend he remembered a lot less than just how he ended up in that alleyway. It helped that when Rose brought him to the police station to check if he had family around, there was no records when it came to either his real or false name. Pair that with how his clothes weren't in the best of shape and his injured throat, he painted a convincing picture of an amnesiac and homeless orphan.

Rose surprised him yet again when she offered to take him in, rather than him being sent off to an orphanage. She shrugged off his protests of not wanting to impose or have her money wasted on him easily. Rose made a decent pay as the projectionist in the local cinema, especially with how movies were rising in popularity.

As much as Harry was feeling more and more indebted to her, it's not like he could make it on his own here. It had taken him a shamefully long time to realise that he didn't have his wand, having only thought to it once he was lying in the bed of Rose's guest room. First his glasses had been missing, and it turned out his wand was too? Harry had a sinking suspicion Rose hadn't been the first to come across him unconscious, something that made him shudder to think about. All he had to his (fake) name was the clothes on his back.

Speaking of names, Harry supposed he should start trying to refer to himself as Norman more. While not the best thing he could've came up with under pressure, it was only the saving grace of his injured throat that had stopped him from blabbing his head off and possibly slipping in the lie.

He didn't want to hurt Rose by revealing he had lied to her so much despite all she had done for, so he threw himself into finding a way to repay her with a silent fervour. The solution to that had ended up being joining her to her work each day, and slowly learning to help her job as a Projectionist. It wasn't easy to understand or accomplish but Harry helped out how he could, setting up the room, fetching reels…

Didn't take long before he started hearing Rose's coworkers joke about the 'little duckling' that followed her about her job.

The next few months passed even faster with something to focus on. Every night he would lay in bed, thinking about how sorely he missed Hogwarts and his friends, but the memory of how he got into this situation never returned.

If there was one thing that bugged him just as much as the missing memory though was how he couldn't do anything to make up for the money Rose had used on him. His upbringing with the Dursley's, mainly them constantly reminding him of how much money was wasted on his 'ungrateful' self, made seeing how Rose began to struggle at supporting two people on her pay rub at him.

So, five months after having found himself mysteriously transported back in time, Norman began to look for a job. The cinema didn't need another Projectionist, but after a search in the newspaper, he found one Joey Drew Studios did.


End file.
